


Change of Clothes

by Snootiegirl



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom
Genre: Gen, M/M, Time Travel, change is good/bad, fanfixing, fashion of the 70s, more emotional content than the movie, polyester pants, scruffy beard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-03 17:13:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1752458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snootiegirl/pseuds/Snootiegirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After ten years with no contact, Charles Xavier, Hank McCoy, and Logan break Erik Lehnsherr out of prison. The changes in the world are reflected in their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted on FFN. I own none of these characters.
> 
> This was supposed to be a fun little one-shot, but these angsty bastards won't lighten up.

Erik looked up from his sprawled position on the floor of the service elevator. "Good to see you too, old friend," he said. Then he squinted as his eyes took Charles in for the first time in over ten years.

"What _are_ you people wearing?" he asked, gesturing to the silver-jacketed boy at his side, the paisley hulk of a man beside Charles, and--his Charles, with long hair?

Charles hesitated in advancing on the man who had inspired such ire. "What? Oh, yeah," he replied as his mind caught up with Erik's question. Running a hand through his hair, he turned away from Erik's questioning eyes.

Logan looked puzzled as he stood behind Charles and watched them. "What?" he too asked with more impatience.

Charles looked Logan in the eye and actually threatened to smile a bit.

"He's been incarcerated in solitary for over a decade. He's missed a few things in world events and fashion trends, hair styles," Charles informed Logan with just a little bit of the sparkle Logan was used to.

"Oh, yeah," Logan agreed and repeated again. "Well, plenty of time to catch him up on the plane. Let's go."

"Plane?" Erik asked.

 

* * *

 

"So does the hair have to do with the treatment too?" Erik asked, only half joking. What had happened to the world in the past ten years?

They were halfway across the ocean, en route to Paris. The tension in the small aircraft was almost a scent in the air. The time pressure, the responsibility of rewriting the future, the broken shards of their connection drawing blood once more.

Charles scowled at him. "Contrary to your dreary existence in your little cell, the world did march on and change, Erik. And I with it," he informed the bewildered man.

Looking both Charles and Logan up and down one more time, Erik responded icily, "Bunch of loonies, running around with pant legs that are too wide and hair that's long and dirty. That's not the Charles Xavier I remember." Then he crossed his arms and looked down his nose at Charles.

Losing a battle with himself not to rise to Erik's baiting, Charles ground out, "I'm not the Charles Xavier you remember. I am the Charles Xavier you abandoned on a beach after shooting me in the back. Literally." He could feel his anger rising to strengthen his resolve to hold Erik accountable for his actions.

"It _was_ an accident. And I _am_ sorry," Erik offered more softly. But Charles waved off the words.

He was more angry with himself for letting Erik get even that much out of him. Erik didn't deserve to hear about what Charles had been doing without him all this time. The German had made his choices. And Charles had lived with them. He wasn't prepared to show all of the anguish he had gone through.

Erik didn't deserve to know that Charles had suffered as much _for_ him as _because_ of him.

"These pants don't breathe," Erik complained as he idly scratched a thigh and looked around the plane. "I need a coat too." His voice took on the tone of the iconoclast leader used to getting his own way.

"Stop talking about clothing. Jesus, what a couple of queens," Logan said around the cigar in his mouth from his perch behind Erik. "What does it matter as long as it keeps you warm? Isn't that the point of clothing anyway?"

Both of the other men pointedly ignored him completely.

"You're sorry you didn't finish the job, you mean," Charles said. He had had a long time to think about what he would say to Erik if they ever met again. Although he never imagined that he would be the one to initiate contact nor break him out of jail.

Erik had stopped his fidgeting with Charles' last statement. "I wasn't there to harm you, and you know it. I never hurt you on purpose," he said.

"No, just on accident. Thoughtlessly. On a whim. It must be a great comfort to know that the pain you inflict on those closest to you is simply a byproduct of being close to you. What a gift you have there," Charles continued to pour salt into the wound.

"Some things never change with time. You are still lecturing, Professor. What's the matter, you don't get enough of that during the school week?" Erik volleyed.

Charles' features froze. His mouth snapped shut, and the fire went out of his eyes. Erik was again perplexed at this sudden change of mood. He looked to the big lump in the chair behind him. "What did I say?" he asked.

Logan took the cigar from between his lips. "The school closed. Years ago," he said. Then he returned to chewing on his tobacco lollipop.

"Why?" Erik asked. "Not a funding problem, surely."

Then Erik's face changed. It slid into serious consideration, shedding the flippancy he had worn more comfortably than his polyester pants since they had all come face-to-face at the Pentagon. This face said, perhaps Charles has had problems too.

He turned this more serious face back toward Charles. The telepath's face was both white and ashen at the same time. Erik wouldn't have been surprised if he had dropped dead right there in front of him. The thought grieved him more than he expected.

Throughout his prison sentence, he had clung to the notion that Charles was still outside working for their goals, even if he was going about it in a vastly different fashion from Erik. They were both still mutants and both still cared too damned much.

"Well, there you are," Charles said between clenched teeth. "All things change--"

"But not always for the better?" Erik finished for him. Charles started, surprised that he had been thinking the same thing. And he used to be such an optimist.

Charles just shook his head and plopped down into a chair, swiveling away from Erik so that he didn't have to see the look of pity that was threatening in Erik's eyes. He didn't want Erik's pity. His respect, his loyalty, his love--

 _No_ , Charles chastised himself, shaking his head violently. _I will not wish for what I should not want._

Erik took the seat across from Charles even though Charles had turned away from him. He sat quietly for a moment, centering his breathing, and thinking about his time in prison. In many ways, it was reminiscent of his time in the camps as a boy. True, there was no Shaw experimenting on him, but the dreary monotony and creeping hopelessness was the same. Wearing a number once again was even more grating than the lack of metal to connect with.

At least he was able to shed that number with his prison-issue uniform.

After so long in stark white environs, the color of the world felt alien to his eyes. He had forgotten the warmth of reds and oranges, the comfort of blues and greens. Even his formerly traditional black seemed colorful in comparison. He vowed never to wear white again of his own choice. He had had enough to last him a lifetime.

At lease these ridiculous clothes had a great deal of color. Purple pants weren't so awful after all--perhaps all he needed was a different cut or different materials.

Ducking his head to look out of the window, he drank in even more colors. He felt he was emerging from a vast winter of snow and ice. Spring had finally taken hold, and he was reborn. Magneto would rise again.

But not now. Not today. Today he would just be Erik. For Charles. With Charles. It shocked Erik to see Charles so broken. He was broken like shattered glass. He was also broken like a saddle horse. Charles had let the world get the better of him.

Erik tried again. "Well," he began cautiously. "Tell me about the new Charles, aged a decade in experience and wisdom." He willed Charles to tell him everything--good and bad.

Charles swiveled back around in his chair to face Erik, but crossed his arms and simply stared at him. Erik had to admit that the facial hair looked good on Charles. His own face felt suddenly naked.

Idly twitching his fingers feeling the metal of the plane around them, Erik went on after Charles did not take up the speaking role. "Because I can tell you my last ten years in one sentence. I ate, slept, meditated, and defecated in one room with no metal, no visitors, and no hope of reprieve." He kept his voice tightly non-accusatory.

 _And whenever I felt near to insanity, the thought of you brought me back from the brink_ , Erik thought at Charles, even though he knew he couldn't hear. But perhaps he could see it in Erik's eyes. _Charles used to be good at reading my thoughts in my eyes, as I recall_.

If he did read anything, he gave no indication, remaining impassive. He distrusted Erik's motives as much as anything else anymore. At least when they had first known each other, he could at least say that whatever Erik did was for the best interest of mutants. Now? He didn't know the man.

Sighing, Charles relented just a little. "I already told you. You took away what was most important to me. And without her--and you--I just didn't have the same strength to persevere. I watched mutant children lose control of themselves and die either on purpose or accidentally. I watched the world become more dangerous for humans and mutants alike. War, terrorism, bombings, police brutality. It was too much--" Charles felt his tears welling again. He stopped talking.

Erik kept his eyes on the other man. Nothing Charles could say would make him look away in disgust or disappointment. He could tell those were the reactions Charles was looking for. His self-pity was looking for validation. Erik wouldn't oblige.

"You can't save the world alone," Erik said. "And no one is expecting you to, except you." His own worst enemy, Erik knew.

Erik carried a great many regrets with him. But none weighed so heavily as his decision to cut ties with Charles. He had let his anger rule him that day and for many days afterwards. And while such anger had been useful on many other occasions, Erik admitted to himself that it had been his biggest mistake to follow it that day on the Cuban beach.

He could have preserved their association and still pursued his own agenda.

Normally, Erik would say that regrets got him nowhere. He couldn't change the past. However, given Logan's tall tale, perhaps that wasn't exactly true. And he already knew that his regrets about Charles were motivating him to be a better man now. Surely that was a positive outcome of such emotional torment?

"What can I do to help you?" Erik asked softly, trying to keep the great hulk behind him from listening to their private conversation. Arguing in front of someone was one thing, but speaking from the heart with sincere conviction was intimacy for Erik and Charles.

"You can't," Charles responded, the tears falling anyway. "No one can help me." _Not if I don't want to be helped_ , he thought.

They both fell silent then for the better part of an hour. Neither knew where else to go that didn't hurt and make things worse between them. Erik occasionally scratched a thigh or shrugged his shoulders in his ill-fitting shirt. But otherwise, they both assumed postures of stillness in body and dizzying activity in mind.

When Hank announced that they were beginning their descent back to land, both sets of bright eyes locked to each other. Their time together, their quiet time, was almost over. Neither knew what would happen when they confronted Raven. Neither knew if they would ever have a private moment together again.

Once again, Erik reflected on how Charles' look suited him. The rugged, unkempt image seemed to reflect the turmoil inside as much as his buttoned-down Oxford look characterized him when the two had met.

 _Perhaps_ , Erik thought, _this change has been good for Charles_. Perhaps he needed to experience something not coming easily to him. Something he had to work harder for or pursue more doggedly. His school and his vision were not being handed to him. He was learning about how other people's lives often progressed--difficultly.

Erik did not wish harm or unhappiness on Charles, but he did appreciate the irony that the world Charles was trying to preserve had become the vessel from which issued this different version of 'Charles Xavier.'

Erik was content with the change.

The quiet moment passed.

 

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once the group arrives in Paris for the Peace Summit, things start to go awry (again).

When the quartet emerged from their plane and walked through the French airport, Erik couldn't help gawking even more. Mini skirts, maxi skirts, peasant blouses, long straight hair on men and women, and platform shoes of ridiculous heights were everywhere. His head swung from side to side, taking in the paisley and other odd colors.

Logan sauntered along behind Magneto and chuckled to himself. He almost never knew Erik to have ruffled feathers. In fact, he always seemed to be a few steps ahead of Logan, much to Logan's chagrin--the smug, German bastard. "Once again, you think it's all about you," he had told Logan once.

Well, yeah, he did. Wasn't it usually?

I'm going to enjoy watching him think it's all about him and be wrong this time, Logan thought with satisfaction. He elbowed Hank in the ribs and pointed to Erik's behavior. Rubbing his ribs, Hank followed the meaty finger and couldn't help smiling himself.

Erik had had a habit of making enemies in this way. His superior attitude and snide remarks had pissed Hank off from the very beginning. He had thought that Raven had felt the same way right up until the moment she disappeared with Erik. Hank had been hurt that she would choose Erik over Hank and especially over Charles.

Hank suspected her defection had less to do with Erik's agenda and more to do with his looks. The night before they had left for Cuba, after offering his serum to Raven, Hank had returned to his bedroom to retrieve a tool he had left there that morning. On the way back down to his lab, he observed her exiting Erik's room in her blue skin. She turned away from him, and walked toward the front staircase. Hank made his way hastily to the servant's stairs.

In the aftermath of his serum, his mutation enhancement, and Charles' injury, he had put the thoughts on the back burner. But now he observed Erik, looking like a mutated fish out-of-water and wondered just what he had that Hank didn't. It was refreshing to see Lehnsherr fumble his way through the world. Hank thought it served him right for what he did.

The only one not enjoying the Erik show was Charles. He was lost in his thoughts as he weaved between other people in the crowded terminal. Although Charles' confinement had been self-imposed, he too felt a little awkward being around so many others.

It had been an interesting transition, watching the traditions and cultural norms of the fifties melt away as the nineteen sixties had progressed. The shock of the nation in the aftermath of the dual Kennedy assassinations had woken many up to the idea that the ugliness of the world wars wasn't so much purged from the society as driven underground to manifest itself in new and sinister ways. Charles had carefully kept abreast of these developments by monitoring key minds in the U.S. and other governments.

He had seen the conflict in Vietnam approaching and had been unable to prevent it. His own demons were shouting too loudly at the time. He had drunk too much, turned to drugs too often, to have the mental focus to influence minds so intent on their own agendas. And once the children started leaving the school to be drafted and killed, Charles had let go of the idea of having an influence on anyone.

It was just too painful to be that helpless.

Eventually, the group exited the airport and reached the curb where a car awaited them. Erik enjoyed the feel of the new type of vehicle--another fashion that had marched on without him. The cars were somewhat smaller than what he had been used to with a boxy look and construction of them. As Erik looked around, he discerned with his eyes and his sense of metal that there were many more automobiles from around the world than there had been.

Not as many German, but more Japanese. They had a different flavor to them than the American vehicles. They sang to him differently. Multiple languages that he caught and translated without a second thought.

Finally wrenching his attention away from the people and the metal surrounding him in a swirling, living mass, Erik remarked quietly to Charles, "Subtle. She'll never see us coming in this."

Charles did not react and said nothing as he stepped into the limo first. The rest followed dutifully, the chauffeur shutting the door behind them. The close interior of the vehicle brought them all more face-to-face than they desired.

The long limousine that Charles had ordered to meet them at the airport was overkill in Logan's opinion. They could have just hired a car or taken a taxicab. But he didn't argue with Charles over something so trivial in relation to what he had had to argued over. Chasing down Mystique with Erik were arguments that Logan had already won. He counted himself very lucky.

The chauffeur told Charles in French that he had enough petrol to get them to the city center, but the rations would force them to complete at least a few blocks of their journey on foot.

All four men in the backseats spoke the native language of Paris but from different motives. Charles had learned for romantic reasons, thinking in his younger days that winning more women with French was charming. Then, he had spent several summers traveling the French countryside with Raven during his Oxford days.

Hank had a good grasp of all the Latinate languages from his command of Latin for science. He drank in information from genetics to languages and retained 99% of it perfectly. He had even corrected the chauffeur's pronunciation based on what he perceived to be the man's home province. After meeting Charles Xavier and having his life turned upside down, he didn't believe in pretending to be something he wasn't. The man didn't have to try to adopt a Parisian accent just for them.

Charles gave Hank a look to stop the grammar lesson.

Logan spoke as many languages as he'd had led lifetimes. French was one of them. He always liked to joke that he spoke French with his tongue in more ways than one. Women seemed to think that was funny--and sexy. He had used it a lot. He had gotten laid a lot.

Logan didn't care a lick about the driver's accent or verb tense.

And Erik. Erik had learned a great many languages just to pursue his vengeance. His world-wide search for the people who were responsible in so many ways for the man he was today. Some of his languages were rustier than others, but all were useful and worth pursuing. You never knew when the next person you met would have the information you needed if only you spoke their language.

Erik listened to what the man behind the wheel was not saying. Charles had replied that the need to walk was an acceptable situation. Erik wondered why Charles' man didn't just purchase more fuel. Another new world reality where even the rich couldn't afford something?

Erik started to ask Charles, but the telepath held up a hand. "Oil crisis," he explained in the shortest shorthand possible. "Rations." Then Charles settled back into the leather seat and looked out the window, ending any possibility of more interaction.

Rations. Erik knew about those as well. He had always wondered if he had had a normal childhood, in Heidelberg, without the war, the camps, and Schmidt, if he would have embraced the idea of rationing more naturally. As it was, he hated the limitations forced on him by an outside authority while living frugally himself by choice. His German heritage urged him to efficiency and conservation.

His life of chasing his own demons had taught him to live sparsely. Only what he could carry. Never keep anything for sentimental reasons. Sentiment could very well get you killed or worse.

Twitching nervously, Hank finally asked the question on his mind. "How will we know her when we see her?" he asked of Raven. "I mean, if she's disguised. How will we know?" He looked at each interlocutor in turn, flinching when he encountered Erik's scowl.

Charles sighed. Logan shifted in his seat and rearranged his muscled limbs to accommodate the limited legroom. Erik looked like he wanted to slap Hank just for daring to exist. Lehnsherr had certainly regained his composure from the gawking at the airport.

"I'll know her," Erik growled. Charles shot him a look filled with questions and pain.

"What do you mean? You haven't seen her in a decade either," Charles reminded Erik. "What if she isn't the same person you brainwashed?" His bitterness wasn't disguised at all.

Erik turned to Charles--they had automatically seated themselves on the same bench--and his temple flexed as he clenched his jaw. "Her choice of paths that led away from you were no more my influence than the paths she had chosen to stay with you were yours, Charles. She's a grown woman with a mind of her own," he countered.

Charles read more in Erik's eyes even without his telepathy. He wished he hadn't. His little sister and his friend--intimate, in many ways. Charles turned back to the window, silent again.

Erik listened to the limo then. The engine was more powerful than he remembered in the various vehicles he had traveled before his incarceration. Thinking of traveling reminded him of his cross-country trek with Charles in search of mutant recruits. How naive they had both been then--Charles almost able to convince Erik that there was hope for mutantkind even with humans outnumbering them.

He smiled a thin smile and turned his eyes to study his own hands. He was pale from his years without natural light. But what was Charles' excuse? He could always just walk out onto his own lawn, couldn't he? Take in some sunlight. Erik began to wonder if the long hair and disheveled appearance was about more than the trends.

When they were let out onto the street, Hank couldn't help acting like a tourist, twisting and turning to look in all directions and take in all the sights. Hank wasn't the kind of young man who had romantic notions of cities like Paris, but now that he was here, he had to admit there was a certain atmosphere to it.

The other three men acted completely unaware of the dazzling nature of their surroundings. In fact, the other three loved the city but were distracted by the mission. Paris deserved better than to be gawked at and given minimal attention. There would be other times . . .

Charles led the small group into the embassy . . .

* * *

 

Erik was on-the-run again. And it seemed a little more difficult than it used to be. He was older, and the world seemed to have grown older as well.

He shook his head at Raven's defiance. He continued to shake it at Charles' stubbornness. What was wrong with them? Erik was self-reflective enough to admit that he might not have all of the answers to the questions the other two posed, but he could at least claim to be doing something. At least, he was before he was locked away.

Raven seemed to have no specific plan. She was just a loose cannon running around the world, exploding in random places. Erik had at least been able to aim her at specific targets before his incarceration. And now that humans knew she was out there and they were hunting her?

Her unpredictability and volatility were liabilities that Erik didn't want.

Maybe she started out as his tool to wield, but being on her own too long had corrupted her. That was the primary reason he had wanted to end her life. If she wasn't an asset for the cause of mutantkind, he was damned if he'd let her be the humans' asset.

Contacting people who still believed in and were willing to aid him, he was flush with wired cash and purpose. He luxuriated in a hot shower and settled onto the bed to refocus. Where would Mystique go? To whom would she turn?

 

TBC


End file.
